


Resembling Civility (R) Spike/Angel

by Spike_1790



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spike_1790/pseuds/Spike_1790





	Resembling Civility (R) Spike/Angel

**Merry Christmas!!!! :D Hope everyone had/has a lovely day *hugs*  
  
Title**: Resembling Civility  
 **Fandom** : AtS/ BtVS  
 **Pairing/Characters** : Spike/Angel  
 **Warnings** :  m/m sex, bad language, angst  
 **Rating** : R  
 **A/N:** Unbeta'd. Written for [](http://rekindlespangel.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rekindlespangel.livejournal.com/)**rekindlespangel**.  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own the boys. Joss won't let me have them. Bad Joss. Grrr...

 **Summary** : AtS S2(ish). Spike visits Angel at Christmas.  


Spike had shown up a week before Christmas. He'd just arrived on the doorstep of the Hyperion and announced that he would be staying. Punches had been thrown, noses had been broken and eyes blackened. Spike had given as good as he'd got against Angel, but a single, careless blow to Wesley's temple had ended the violent, if somewhat brief, battle.

  


Migraine laden, with crossbow bolts and stakes aimed at his heart, Spike had surrendered. Despite various protests from Cordelia and Wesley, Angel let Spike stay. One look at the defeat in the blonde's eyes, and Angel had caved.

  


To his credit, Spike had tried his best to be good. He had been moderately polite to Gunn, and Cordelia- to her face, at least- and civil to Wesley. He had helped out with helping the innocent and killing the bad guys, and, most surprisingly, he had made an effort to get on with Angel, even if the effort was tenuous at best. It was a pleasant change to the last time they had seen Spike, because hot pokers were nobody's friend. It was good to see Spike without the constant snark and threats.

  


But like all good things, it had to come to an end. And it did. On Christmas Eve.

  


Mere hours before Christmas day, when all good little boys and girls should be tucked up in bed, waiting for Santa, Spike burst through the hotel doors.

  


“Vamp nest on East First Street!” he yelled, rummaging through the weapons cabinet, no doubt looking for the broad sword he had taken a shine to the second he saw it. Angel's favourite sword. Wesley winced as a priceless sixth century dagger was carelessly tossed aside. Spike was nearly vibrating with energy. “Aha!” he exclaimed, waving the newly found broadsword in the air.

  


“Find another weapon,” Angel growled, snatching the sword from Spike's hands. Spike was torn between snarling and pouting, but as he knew neither would help, he settled for delving back into the cabinet. He was still trying to find a suitable weapon by the time the others were ready to leave. Even Cordelia was ready, and she'd had to change her whole outfit twice just in case they happened to see an attractive man or a talent scout or something else that seemed entirely implausible to anyone who wasn't Cordelia Chase.

  


“Spike!” Angel barked at what he could see of the younger vampire. Spike's arse was wiggling in the air as the blonde delved into the depths of Wesley's private weapons chest- the one with the important knives and swords and other assorted pointy things for rituals and spells. Wesley let out an indignant squawk, but was silenced by Angel's warning glare.

  


Spike absently waved a hand in Angel's general direction. “I'll catch you up mate. Gotta find me a decent blade. I'm not goin' out with one of these poncey things.” The glass handle of a bespelled rapier shattered on the marble floor and Angel wisely averted a minor war between the younger vampire and the former watcher by ushering Wesley out the door and into the chilly darkness of the night.

  


***

  


Angel was annoyed. The 'vampire nest' had turned out to be a disused building being used as a squat by a bunch of homeless people. It was an easy mistake to make, but what had tipped him from irritated to annoyed was the fact that Spike hadn't joined them. Angel, Wes and Cordy had traipsed around for over an hour before Cordy's complaining about the risk of blisters had forced them into the first cab that would pick up two men and a wannabe model armed to the teeth with pointy weaponry.

  


Annoyed had turned to angry when, having taken Wes and Cordy back to their respective apartments, he was unable to get into the hotel. The doors had been locked from the inside and no matter how loud he shouted, or how hard he knocked, the doors stayed shut and Spike stayed firmly behind said doors.

  


Having been forced into the sewers to get back to his own hotel, angry evolved into furious the second his highly sensitive hearing picked up on the sounds coming from Spike's room. Harsh grunts and deafening screams echoed down from the room Spike had claimed as his own. It was the one right next to Angel's, and the older vampire got treated to the dulcet tones of The Sex Pistols on a nightly basis, but that was just Spike being Spike.

  


Angel was aware that Spike wasn't a saint. The chip didn't make him feel remorse; it just leashed him like an animal. Where Angel craved redemption, Spike aimed to maintain what he could of his pre-chip lifestyle. That didn't mean that it was acceptable for the bleached menace to bring women back to _Angel's_ hotel in order to get his rocks off. Not when Angel himself was living like a monk. 

  


No, Angel was passing Angry and well on the way to Furious. Angry was only a tiny dot in the real view mirror. Vaulting the stairs three at  
a time, he kicked Spike's door down with a feral roar, only to be stopped short by the figure on the bed. 

  


Spike was curled up on his side, lit only by the flickering light from the television screen. And by his side... was no one. The screams and  
grunts escalated to a deafening climax, the tape began to rewind itself and the screen turned back static snow, the closest they'd be  
getting to the real thing that Christmas. 

  


Over the soft shushing of the static, Angel could hear spike's stifled sobs. In all the years of Spike's unlife, there had only been two occasions that Angel had seen the headstrong blonde cry. The first had been when Drusilla had tried to take a walk in the sun. Spike had, in his fledgling naivety, panicked, believing that his precious Dru was done for. She, of course, had been rescued by an irate Angelus. The second time had been when Angelus deemed him ready to become a real man, and they had shared a bed. Angelus had laughed as Spike screamed and bled. 

  


But the Spike that had taken the lives of two Slayers, the Spike that fought Angel in a high school, that Spike would never cry. He was a proud and vicious monster, and had gone out of his way to prove himself to be just that. Vicious monsters didn't cry. 

  


Spike cried. On the bed, curled into a foetal position, his back to the door. Bitter tears that Angel felt he had no business knowing about, let alone seeing. He should have left. He should have gone downstairs to the office to brood, because he was good at that. He wasn't good at... emotions. 

So what possessed him to sit on the edge of the bed, he would never work out as long as he lived. Spike froze, the hitch of his tears stilled and silenced by the dip of the bed. What happened next, neither would care to think too deeply about. Angel stroked one hand down Spike's side, revelling in the feel of smooth cotton over silky skin. Spike stayed still, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a hunter's truck. Angel's hand stilled at Spike's hip, fingers tracing the edge of the rough denim jeans.   


Just as Angel was about to leave, he felt Spike's fingers trace over his own, a light, barely there touch. From then, things got a little hazy. Angel remembered Spike turning over, and their lips meeting in a tender kiss. The kiss had turned rough and demanding, each giving as good as they got and pushing for more. Angel shredded Spike's t-shirt, and tore his own down the front. Spike laughed when the buttons of Angel's $400 shirt pinged off the walls. It was a beautiful sound, Spike's laugh. Angel made a mental note to find other ways to make Spike make that sound again.

  


But that would have to wait. Desperate for more contact, Angel dropped his whole body onto Spike's, delighting in the furious wiggling from  
the younger vampire. Wiggling changed subtly into thrusting, Spike's jeans were wrestled off and Angel's slacks were ripped from his body.  


It was fast, wild, and over way too fast. Spike roared his release and clawed down Angel's back, triggering the brunette's own release. They  
lay together, sated, panting for unneeded breath, sticky with semen and traces of Angel's blood from the furrows in the smooth, pale skin. 

  


Eventually, Spike began to get restless, which didn't surprise Angel. Spike wasn't known for his ability to remain still and quiet. “Get off me, you bloody great lump!” he pouted, shoving futilely at Angel's larger body. 

  


Angel refused to budge. “Tell me why you were crying,” he demanded. 

  


Spike spluttered, looking affronted, as though Angel had just announced Spike was to wear a tutu for the rest of eternity. “I wasn't crying, you pillock. I'm the big bad- I don't cry.” Angel glared in his best 'I am Angelus and you will obey me' way. Spike squirmed and mumbled something into the crook of Angel's neck. 

  


“Didn't catch that.” 

  


Spike glared. “I said, I hate being alone at Christmas.” 

  


“And the porn? And locking me out?” Angel asked. 

  


“Was going to have a wank, wasn't I? Needed some privacy. But it hit me as I was about to undo me flies that tossing off to porn just means I'd  
be the only one without a partner. Even the sodding porn stars have someone, even if its pretend.” 

  


Angel didn't have words for that. So he did all he could do. He hugged Spike close and planted a kiss on the blonde's forehead. He was about  
to fall asleep when he remembered something. 

  


“Merry Christmas, Spike,” he whispered. 

  


“Merry Christmas, poof. Now get off me, you great big git.”


End file.
